UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


This  "0-P  Book"  is  an  Authorized  Reprint  of  the 
Original  Edition,  Produced  by  Microfilm-Xerography 
by  University  Microfilms,  Ann  Arbor,  Michigan,  1967 


ATLANTA: 


Crut  ^lesscfc  fslanb  0f  $ 


A  PAUL  EPIC-IN  THREE  LUSTRA, 


BY  T.  II.  QIVERS,  M.  D. 


(COPY  RIGHT  SECURED.) 


MACON,  GA: 

I'ULNTED  AT  THE  GEORGIA.  OITIZK3  OFFICE. 

1853. 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


^ 


LIBRARY 

OP  THE 

UNIVERSITY. 


VVJT 


Photostat  negative  on  file. 
Original  it  not  to  be  u*cd 
without  special  permiMion. 


A  T  L  A  N  T  A  : 


£(ie  Cntc  ^Ic55tb  Island  0 

A  PAUL  EPIC-1N  THREE  LUSTRA. 

JJY  T.  II.  cniVEUS,  M.  1). 


-         '        -  -  - 

/'     k">    .'.  £••?/   t 


PREFACE. 


Why  is  it  that  a  strain  of  music,  on  being  heard  for  the  first  time* 
thrills  us  as  with  an  unearthly  joy )  Because  we  hear  it,  of  course. — 
AVIiat  I  mean  by  this  is,  that  the  organs  of  hearing  are  in  a  receptive 
vnjmi'ity  to  acknowledge  fine  sounds,  The  vibratory  molecules  of  the 
miriuular  organs  are  in  that  mtirul  condition  neeojwary  to  enable  them 
to  respond,  perceptively,  to  the  vibrations  of  the  musical  tones.  But 
after  these  organs  have  become  jaded  by  the  continued  application  of 
the  reverberatory  molecules,  or  wavelets  of  the  atmosphere,  they  lose 
the  power  to  communicate  these  vibrations  to  the  senaorium.  The 
same  thing  is  true  in  regard  to  the  smelling  of  a  rose.  "NY  hen  too  long 
applied,  the  sense  of  smell  becomes  dulled  to  the  particles  of  odor. — 
But  if  a  lily  be  applied,  it  will  be  recognized,  not  because  it  has  awa 
kened  any  new  power  in  the  organ  already  jaded  by  the  application  of 
the  rose — but  because  its  particles,  possessing  a  different  molecular  ac 
tion,  stimulate  that  portion  of  the  nasal  organ  untouched  before  by  the 
effluvium  of  the  rose. 

Now,  as  by  changing  the  application,  of  different  flowers,  a  continual 
and  ever  varying  regalement  may  be  kept  up  in  the  organs  of  smell ; 
HO,  also,  by  the  repeated  application  of  new  and  melodious  imagery  in 
u  Poem — novel  intonations  in  music — is  the  soul  enabled  to  enjoy, 
while  forever  thirsting  after,  protracted  delights. 

This  will,  at  once,  reveal  to  us  the  secret  of  that  Art  necessary  to. 
write  a  pure  Poem— -that  is,  one  that  will  give  us  the  greatest  amount 
of  pleasure,  with  the  least  tedium,  in  a  certain  given  time.  As  all  im 
pressions  are  made  upon  the  soul  in  time,  which  are  subject  to  the  mu 
tations  incident  to  it  while  in  this  life,  it  is  obvious  that  no  long-con 
tinued  effort  can  last  without  a  loss  in  those  pleasurable  sensations 
which  are  consequent  upon  freshness  of  nervous  energy,  and  always 
attend  first  impressions.  It  is,  therefore,  clear  that  no  poem  of  any 
considerable  length,  from  the  very  nature  of  the  relations  subsisting  be 
tween  the  power  of  the  soul  to  receive,  and  the  impressions  to  be  made, 
ran  be  pleasing  to  any  well-educated  person  for  any  length  of  time. — 
The  same  may  be  said  of  music.  This  is  the  reason  why  Lyrical  Poe 
try  always  has  been,  and  always  will  be,  pleasing  to  the  soul. 

It  was  a  very  obscure  saying  of  Lord  Bacon,  that  "  There  is  no  ex-' 
guisite  beauty  without  some  »trangene*9  in  its  proportions"  But  this 
cannot  be  the  truth;  because  that  characteristic  which  makes  beauty 
enchanting  is  independent  of  mere  "strangeness" — for  to  the  perfectly- 
couched  eyes  of  an  illuminated  Seer,  all  things  appear  beautiful  that 
are  realty  so.  It  is  the  objective  indefiniteness  ot  the  charms  of  any 
pure  beauty, -to  an  uncouched,  subjective  eye,  which  makes  it  appear 


Strange,*    Hut  how  could  Pluto  look  upon  the  face  of  Jovo  without 
having  his  eyes  put  out  I 

But  this  would  be  making  the  Ipsiety  of  Beauty  depend  upon  tho 
munurr  of  her  being  seen,  and  not  on  the  peculiar  graces  of  her  person. 
Lord  Bacon  was  led  astray  in  contemplating  the  Imurcssion*  made  upon 
his  own  miud  by  beauty  not  verv  clearly  jjercelved — for,  who  does  not 
know  that  the  clairvoyant  soul  of  every  true  Poet — as  well  as  every 
Angel  in  Heaven — becomes  inspired  by  the  phdsure  cf  pure  beauty 
only  when  beheld  in  all  her  perfect  entireties*.  ' 

5fow,  the  novel  suddenness  or  rare  unexpectedness  of  those  impres 
sions  before  named,  will  confer  delight,  because,  at  every  appeal  made, 
there  will  be  something  new— something  the  memory  ot  which  will 
not;  crowd  out  of  the  soul  succeeding  impressions.  This  Is  what  con- 
Htimtes  delight.  That  which  constitutes  it  in  poetry,  will,  also,  consti 
tute  it  in  music — because  tho  ummur  of  receiving  pleasure  is  always 
the  same. 

All  pleasurable  impressions  will  satiate  the  soul  if  not  varied.  A 
rose,  which  is  the  sweetest  of  all  flowers,  will  not  smelb  so  sweetly  after 
a  long  continued  application,  as  when  flrst  applied  to  tho  organs  of 
MM.'!!.  But  if  a  lily  be  applied  immediately  afterwards,  it  will  occupy 
the  same  place,  0*  a  lily,  that  the  rose  did  <waro.se.  The  reason  of 
;his  is,  because  the  sense  of  smell  has  become  satiated  with  tho  odor  of 
ho  rose.  So,  after  the  satiety  of  the  application  of  the  lily,  tho  pink, 
an  a  pink,  will  occupy  the  place  that  the  rose  did  at  first.  Thus  wo 
*ee  that  pleasure  is  the  result  of  the  application  of  ever  varying  succes 
sions  of  novel  stimuli  to  tho  organs  of  sense. 

NY»w,  the  oftener  we  varv  this  application  of  pleasurable  impressions 
to  the  senses  of  th«>  soul — keeping  our  appetite  forever  hungry  for  tho 
iVlestial  Xcvt:ir  and  Ambrosia  of  new  beauties — the  greater  will  bo 
nir  delight.  This  is  the  Art  which  every  real  Ganymede  must  possess, 
in-fore,  he  can  confer  unearthly  delights  on  the  fastidious  souls  of  tho 
Gods.  In  fact,  this  is  the  true  mystery  of  those  ineflable  delights  which 
the  Angels  enjoy  in  Heaven. 

Xow,  :us  in  a  Parterre,  it  is  necessary  to  have  it  variegated  with  dif 
ferent  kinds  of  exotics,  in  order  to  give  it  that  beauty  which  is  most 
captivating  to  the  soul,  so  is  it  necessary  to  confer  all  tho  delight  of 
which  the  soul  is  susceptible,  to  have  tho  ideas  of  a  Poem  inlloresee  it 
with  a  melodious  novelty  of  beauty — the  passion  to  imbathe  it  with  its 
radiaitt  odorifcrousness  as  tho  perfume  does  the  flower. 

Now,  the  reason  why  a  Parterre  gives  pleasure  is,  because  it  contains 
an  infinite-  assemblage  of  beautiful  flowers,  (this  always  being  tho  pri 
mary  object  of  the  Floriculturist  in  laying  it  out,)  the  appeals  made 
by  it  to  the  sense*  being  so  manifold  that  they  never  produce-  monoto 
ny,  or  satiety — for,  as  soou  as  the  soul  satiates  itself  upou  one  regale 
ment,  it  can  fly  oft',  like  tho  hummingbird,  to  another,  and  suck  up  its 
ever  van  ing  sweets. 

Thus,  as  the  flowers  in  a  lieautiful  garden  give  delight  according  to 
the  art  displayed  by  the  Floriculturist ;  so  do  the  images  in  a  poem  ac 
cording  to  the  art  displayed  by  the  i»oet  Tho  same  may  be  said  of 
music— for  what  was  the  Garden  of  Eden  but  an  Opera  of  beauty 


written  by  tho  hand  of  God,  in  syllables  of  flower*,  for  the  ill-light  of 
tho  Angels! 

A  pure  poem  is  like  those  winged  creatures  seen  by  Kaekiel — as  full 
of  beauties  as  the  Chorubim  with  eyes,  Hut  no  poem  can  bo  perfect 
whoso  munificence  of  passion  in  not  glorified  by  tlie  loftiest  intuition 
into  tlio  divine  nature  of  Art. 

No  person  was  ever  yet  pleased'  with  the  vholo  of  Milton1*  Paradiso 
Lost— -nor,  indeed,  with  any  Epic  of  great  length— tho  beautiful  or 
Hclect  passages  only  giving  him  delight.  The  fact  is,  these  are  the  only 
really  poetical  passages,  the  others  being  only  the  relatively  connecting1 
links'  of  the  whole.  It  is,  therefore,  obvious  that  the  idiosyncratic  merit* 
of  any  poet  depend  entirely  upon  the  manner  in  which  ho  has  realized 
his  dreams  of  the  cryatultine  revelation  of  the  Divine  Idea. 

No  Poem  can  be  a  perfect  specimen  of  tho  Art  which  is  not  complete 
in  itnelf—in  which  case  it  would  possess  all  the  merits  of  the  old  Epics 
without  their  tcdionsncss.  In  fact,  such  a  Poem  would  be  an  Epical 
Kong,  or,  in  other  words  a  melodious  relation  of  an  irrepressible  yearn 
ing  in  the  soul  to  unfold  to  itself  its  own  intuitive  longings  after  tho 
Divine  Ilouutv. 

From  this  it  will  bo  seen  why  the  present  Poem  wns  written.  It  is 
an  experiment  upon  tho  minds  of  the  Chontn  Fei^  wrought  out  in  or 
der  to  introduce,  for  their  consideration,  a  partial  fulfillment  of  the  de 
mands  required  by  the  souls  of  all  true  worshippers  of  the  Divine 
Beauty,  as  hinted  at  in  the  foregoing  part  of  this  Preface. 

It  is  only  necessary  for  me  to  stato  here,  that  Epic  Poems  were  com 
mon  in  Egypt,  as  it  is  related  by  Xaucra  test  hat  Homer  obtained  many 
of  his  most  sublime  passages  in  tho  Ilmds  from  the  Epic  Poems  of  the 
Egyptian  Hards.  T hut  there  were  such  Poems,  is  proven  by  Salvolinis* 
translation  of  tho  Hieratic  Papyrus,  wherein  is  recorded  the  conquest  of 
Homes?*  the  great.  Over  the  gateway  of  tho  magnificent  Temple,  by 
bomo  called  The  MemltoniuM,  by  others  The  Ramanscsiuia^  is  a  hiero- 
glvphicul  inscription  which  signifies,  The  Remedy  for  the  Soul.  Thoth, 
who  was  the  same  as  Hermes  TrisuiCgestua,  that  is,  tho  thrice  great 
Hermes,  was  consider*^!  by  them  the  Lord  of  the  Dirine  Writings. 

From  the  Pi*guh-top  of  the  present,  I  look  abroad  upon  the  far- 
reaching  Fields  of  the  Future,  into  that  Promised  Land  of  Beauty, 
through  whoso  verdant  Vullies  the  rivers  of  milk  and  honey  flow,  and 
behold  the  Angels  with  their  ploughs  of  Pearl  breaking  up  *thc  fallow- 
lands  of  the  Oriental  Fields  of  Heaven  into  Auroral  furrows. 

As  the  penitent  Pilgrim,  on  his  way  to  Mount  Zion,  reclines,  at  the 
noontide  hour  of  tho  day,  from  tho  burning  heat  of  the  tropical  sun, 
in  the  cool  refreshing  shadow  of  tho  Itock  of  lliinmon,  so  docs  my 
wearied  soul  hide  itself  away  into  an  ecstacy  underneath  the  odorifer 
ous  dove-wings  of  the  Divine  Queen  of  Heaven. 

Ministering  Angels  wait  upon  tho  soul  of  every  trnc  Poet  to  lead 
him  into  the  way  of  all  Beauty,  just  as  tho  Sephiroth,  or  Divine  Splen 
dors,  of  the  Cabalistical  Doctors,  guided  tho  hands  of  David  into  the 
Empyreal  Ilrr.lsvs  of  a  newer  melody  while  striking  music  from  his 
.ten-stringed  Harp  for  tho  pacification  of  the  troubled  soul  of  Saul. 

VILLA  ALLEGBA,  GA.,  July  18th,  1842.  T.  H.  C. 


' 


ATLANTA: 

OK,  THE  TRUE  BLESSED  ISLAND  OF  POESY, 


••  Nay,  lias  uot  the  Atlantis,  or  true  Blessed  Inland  of  Powy,  been, 
In  all  times,  understood  to  lie  Westward,  though  never  rightly  discov 
ered  till  now } M—  Carlule. 

"Arise,  0,  North  Wind,  and  blow  thou  South,  upon  my  garden,  that 
the  splcis  thereof  may  How  out ! "— Sotomon't  Sonyt. 


LU8TKUM    THE    FI  K8T. 

Count  Julian  loved  lauthe  well.    She  was 
The  fairest  Maid  in  all  the  sunny  South — 
The  summer  South— where  there  are  many  fair— 
The  only  Damsel  in  her  father's  house — 
A  Farmer's  daughter,  beautiful  as  pure, 
Living  in  all  the  rich  simplicity 
Of  cottage  life  alone  among  the  flowers— 
A  fairer  FtowEa  herself— culled  by  her  Sire, 
IANTIIK,  LILY  OF  THE  LAND  OF  LOVE. 
For,  in  the  Halcyon  Days  of  youth  they  met 
By  instinct,  like  two  Doves  in  Harvest  time— 
Mating  they  knew  not  how — loving  they  knew 
Nofc  why — but  still  they  came  together — still 
They  loved,  like  two  fond  doves  in  mating-time — 
Building  upon  the  basis  of  their  love 
All  hopes  of  joy  on  earth,  all  bliss  in  Heaven. 

lanthe  was  the  playmate  of  his  youth —        X7 
A  Lj$y  on  the  emerald  ^4  of  life,  <<?& 

Whose  saintly  petals  were  not  opened  quite 
When  he  beheld  her  first  dawn  in  God's  smiles ; 
But  when  the  bud  of  her  pure  youth  began 
First  to  unfold  itself  to  Heaven,  then  were 
The  snow  white  petals  of  her  lily-limbs 
Unfolded  gently  to  his  rapturous  gaze, 
Disclosing  to  his  soul  her  inmost  heart, 
Lavishing  upon  him,  with  excess  of  joy, 
The  virgin  redolence  of  purest  love. 
Her  goodness  was  as  boundless  as  the  Heavens, 
Because  her  love  was  infinite — for  all 
Pure  love  is  infinite — knows  no  decay 
In  being  lavished  out  upon  the  loved, 


IWani*  it  is  Uie  imasre  of  God's  love, 
Which  knows  no  diminution  in  its 
lly  being  lavished  out  upon  all  worlds. 

Hut  old  Lnruorah,  M'u-o  of  ki«  Tribe, 
A  wild  Ulysses,  Ik-uder  of  Uie  How, 
Leader  of 'Mighty  Men  to  fruitless  war, 
From  Oostanalla  to  the  Ohesta(ee, 
Where  TalajHxtsa  rolls  her  Mouutain  rills— 
From  old  Echota's  Iloly  Land  above 
To  Ouitklaeoochce'a  silver  Vata  below— 
So  long  Ute  White-Man's  friend,  became  his  foe. 
The  Tomahawk  was  now  dug  up  again 
From  rusting  underneath  the  Treo  of  Peace; 
And  old  Lamorah  swore  never  again 
To  smoke  the  Calumet  of  Peace  with  Man. 
Tin*  Dove  began  to  feel  the  Hawk  was  nigh; 
The  white  Swan  from  the  Silver  Lake  came  back 
Again  with  blood  upon  her  snowy  wings; 
And  never  came  the  Angel  of  iwcet  Peace 
To  w  ijM?  it  oft;  until  Lumorah  left 
His  native  laud  for  lands  beyond  the  sea. 

This  old  Lamorah  had  two  sons — both  brave— 
Hut  his  Yaijiasso,  Eagle  of  his  heart,       /y\_ 
The  elder  loved  the  better  of  the  two, 
Heeause  he  was  the  White-Man's  foe. 
For  many  times  Lamorah,  in  his  ire, 
Would  fling  the  White-Man's  children  in  the  air, 
And  catch  them  falling,  on  his  pointed  kiiife. 
One  day,  when  he  was  doing  this,  he  saw  one  smile, 
With  his  blue  laughing  eyes,  right  in  his  face, 
And  from  that  fatal  hour,  until  his  death, 
Jle  never  siuil-  <J,  but  hell  raged  in  his  heart—  , 
Feeding  upon  his  soul  forever  more — 
A  Vulture  that  could  never  have  enough, 
But,  ever  £uuUhed,  like  the  hungry  grave, 
Fed  on,  forever  hungry — never  full. 
Jv>  to  relieve  his  burning  thirst  for  blood,— 
The  eternal  Hell  that  raged  within  his  heart- 
He  swore  eternal  vengeance  on  the  Whites. 
80,  to  the  Cuscovilla's  Vale  he  went 
Against  great  Simighan,  his  father's  foe, 
1 'anting,  like  hell-hounds,  for  the  White-Man's  blood! 
They  fought — his  Tribe  was  slain — slain  every  man, 
Except  his  son  Yaifcassa — he  alone  ^Vw 

EscajHxl — was  taken  captive  in  the  fight — 
IVound  fast  in  chains — borne  from  the  field 
Hack  to  the  White-Man's  Tents  where  he  had  slain 
The  innocent  children,  where  he  lay  confined 
In  heavy  chains,  waiting  his  awful  doom ! 


So,  old  Lamorah,  to  avenge  his  death, 
Went,  at  the  midnight  hour,  with  torch  in  hand, 
And  lired  the  old  man'*  house — that  good  old  man— r 
And  as  they  fled,  escaping  from  the  flames, 
Ho  caught  his  young  Moon-Daughter  in  his  arms, 
And  bore  her  swift  away  with  him — away 
To  some  far  distant  land  unknown  to  man — 
For  never  tidings  came  of  where  he  went, 
Leaving  young  Julian  mourning  for  her  loss — 
Mourning  that  he  could  never  more  behold 
The  beauty  of  her  Angel-face,  nor  drink 
Delight  again  out  of  her  heavenly  smiles, 
Wherein  his  soul  had  sunned  itself  to  peace. 
She  was  the  Virgin  of  the  first  fond  love, 
"Who  lay  upon  his  bosom  like  the  Swan 
Upon  clear  waters,  while  his  soul  grew  white 
To  imago  back  her  form — the  very  first 
That  made  him  t>ee  the  young  Hind  in  his  dreams. 
Now,  in  the  Spring-time  of  the  year,  when  all 
Things  show  their  love  to  God — tho  birds  show  theirs—* 
The  Earth,  exprest  in  syllables  of  flowers, 
Her  love,  (which  is  the  Poetry  of  Earth — ) 
Sweet  syllables  of  rarest  redolence — 
While  sitting  in  her  BOWKII  OF  BLISS  one  day, 
AVooed  by  the  odorous  Winds  which  played  around 
Her  brow  of  living  pearl,  with  downy  touch 
Soft  as  caresses  from  some  Angel's  hand — 
She  saw  two  Doves,  tho  mother  with  her  mate, 
Building  their  nest  low  in  a  cedar  tree. 
Long  did  she  watch  them  there,  until  the  nest 
AVas  built,  wherein  tho  mother  sat,  from  day 
To  day,  until  she  1  lid  two  little  eggs ; 
AVhen  Ostenf  e,  Lamorah's  living  son, 
From  jealousy,  because  she  watched  them  so- 
Watched  any  thing  but  his  dark,  ugly  face — 
Drew  forth  his  Locust-Bow  and  shot  them  dead  I 
So,  after  this,  one  day,  when  he  was  gone, 
She  clomb  up  to  the  nest — took  out  the  eggs, 
And  with  her  lily,  snow  white  hafitl,  placed  them, 
With  love-like  innocence,  in  heavenly  nest, 
Between  the  oval  apples  of  her  breast, 
AVherein  they  nestled  in  divine  content, 
Until  they  hatched  two  little  doves,  snowwhite, 
Caught  from  the  fair  complexion  of  her  breast, 
AVhich  ministered  not  only  vitalizing  warmth, 
But  gave,  with  her  maternal  tenderness, 
A  parent's  Angel-nature  to  them  like  her  own— r 
Making  them  meeker  than  the  other  birds, 
Because  their  Angel-mother  was  more  meek— 
AVhich  she  caressed  until  they  both  were  grow».. 


10 


So,  one  day,  while  die  Mt  within  her  BOWER 

Alone,  unwatched  by  Ostenfe,  who  would    ^ 

Not  let  her  rest  by  day  nor  night,  for  hU 

Exceeding  love  for  her, — she  wrote  upon 

White  satin  with  her  own  heart's  blood, 

And  tied  it  to  the  snow-white  Pigeon's  wiug, 

And,  whispering  Angel's  language  in  its  ear — 

Language  of  purest  love,  (as  it  now  sate 

Perched  on  the  snow-white  bough  of  her  soft  arm, 

Fluttering  its  saintly  wings  with  joy  to  hear 

The  amorous  tidings  she  conveyed  to  it,) 

She  bade  it  fly  to  her  dear  Julian's  Bower ; 

And,  instantly,  instinct  with  all  her  love— 

(As  instinct  with  the  knowledge  of  the  way, 

Unknown — un  traveled  through  the  pathless  air — ) 

Up  from  the  bough  of  her  soft  arm  it  rose, 

(Not  by  its  absence  lonely  left,  but  clothed 

With  such  celestial  fairness  that  it  seemed 

A  living  Heaven  of  many  suppliant  Doves) 

A  living,  swift-winged  ship,  full-sailed, 

\Vith  God-directed  instinct  for  the  gale — 

Like  some  pure  Virgin's  soul,  at  death,  to  Heaven— 

And  bent  its  flight  swift  for  her  Julian's  Bower. 

Three  hours,  with  swift  unerring  wing,  it  flew, 

And,  at  the  fourth,  anchored  her  rosy  feet, 

Love-laden  in  the  harbor  of  his  hand. 

llapt  with  surprise — with  wonder  more  than  new— 

To  see  such  heavenly  Messenger  on  earth — 

Fluttering  so  tamely  on  his  tremulous  arm — 

Thinking  it  was  Innthe's  soul  from  Heaven, 

He  took  the  satin  letter  from  its  wings, 

The  soft,  love-laden  letter — which  he  read — 

Thrilling  with  tears  of  pure  ecstatic  joy—  , 

Which  after  kissing  many  thousand  times, — 

Kissing  the  saintly  Messenger  as  oft — 

(As  tame  as  love  in  its  own  Mistress'  heart—) 

Pressing  it,  fluttering,  to  his  panting  breast — 

He  placed  it  in  his  bosom  near  his  heart, 

And  sitting  down  upon  the  moss-clad  rock, 

Bec'ide  the  spring  where  he  was  waiting  now, 

(Waiting  to  hear  some  tidings  of  his  love — ) 

He  wrote  on  paper  of  the  purest  silk, 

And,  fastening  his  sweet  answer  to  itn  wing, 

Brimful  of  love,  returned  it  back  again, 

And,  straightway,  started  for  St.  Mary's  Lake, 


LUSTRUM  THE  SECOND. 

Beneath  an  aged  Oak,  whose  hundred  arms 
Were  lifted  up,  as  in  mute  prayer,  to  God, 
Silvered  with  many  hundred  years,  whose  locks 
Of  argent  moss  hung  waving  to  the  ground, 
Fringing  the  margin  of  that  Inland  Sea, 
Jeweled  with  myriad  multicolored  Shells — 
Prone  on  the  silver  sand,  alone,  the  last 
Of  all  his  Tribe,  the  Chief;  Lamorah  sat 
Beside  him  lay  his  Bow  upon  the  ground ; 
Upon  his  back  the  well-stored  Quiver  hung, 
His  great  Herculean  form  was  clad  in  skins 
Fantastically  fringed  with  down  of  Swans, 
And  ornamented  with  the  rarest  beads. 
His  feet  were  sandaled  with  red  Moccassins ; 
His  Wampum  Belt  was  fastened  round  his  waist, 
An  Eagle-Plume  crested  his  head,  which  waved 
Aloft,  swayed  by  the  odorous  winds  which  camo 
Laden  with  perfumes  from  the  Isle  of  Flowers— 
An  Emblem  of  his  mighty  heart  now  free. 
Close  to  his  ear,  in  his  right  hand,  he  held 
A  rose-tipped  Shell,  which  sung  irysterious  songs, 
And  soothed  his  weary  soul  to  peace ;  for  in 
Its  soft  -Eolian  cadences  it  seemed 
The  soul  of  his  Yaifiassa — his  dead  son —       /far 
CJkme  back  to  lead  him  to  the  LAND  OF  SOULS. 
Long  did  he  thus  apply  it  to  his  ear, 
Listening,  entranced,  with  muto  response  to  hoar, 
As  if  his  soul  found  music  in  its  song, 
For  often  have  the  souls  of  mighty  men 
Come  back,  at  midnight,  to  their  native  land 
To  rest,  by  moonlight,  in  the  Ruby-Bells. 
Rapt  with  the  sense  of  its  sweet  melody, 
He  lost  all  memory  of  his  native  Isle, 
Forgetting  all  things  in  the  living  world 
Remembering  nothing  but  his  own  deep  joy, 
Born  of  his  memory  of  the  Olden  Time, 
In  days  gone  by,  when  he  was  in  his  prime, 
And  young  Yamossa  was  his  son  on  earth.    /Vl/ 
Long  held  he  thus  the  Shell  unto  his  ear, 
Until  the  tears  in  one  clear  stream  profuse 
Of  briny  dew,  born  of  the  ever  deep 
And  fiery  joy  that  reveled  in  his  heart, 
Gushed  down  in  torrents  on  his  high  check  bone— 


The  rugged  highway  of  his  burning  thoughts— 

Like«ome  dear  stream  rushing  at  noon 

From  the  red  bosom  of  die  Ochre-Hills, 

Through  the  warm  Valliea  of  the  Summer  South, 

Hinging  of  childhood  in  its  happiness. 

Beneath  this  Jupiterian  Oak, 

The  Tride  of  Pan,  he  sate  him  down, 

Where  he  had  sunk  to  silence  on  that  day, 

Far  from  the  gardens  of  his  Eden-Isle, 

From  which  came  perfumes  floating  on  the  breeze, 

Making  delicious  all  the  air  around— 

Close  by  his  rustic  Boat,  whose  tarring  prow 

Lay  moored  supine  upon  the  pebbly  beach. 

The  golden  cloud U}kc  coucht*  of  the  blest— 

(Like  that  which'Israel  out  of  Egypt  led — ) 

In  dreary  languor  lay  in  mountain-piles 

Half  way  to  Heaven — sweet  dreams  of  days  well  spent— 

Like  Beauty  bleeping  on  the  breast  of  Love; 

While,  far  beyond,  the  binding  Heavens,  serene, 

Looked  down  upon  the  abject  world  at  rest, 

Rolling  beneath  the  singing  Stars— the  Choir 

Of  God's  great  universe — the  azure  vault 

Resounding  with  the  everlasting  song 

Of  Man's  great  heart — the  music  of  the  storms— 

(Jreat  Ocean1*  loud,  sonorous,  troublous  voice— 

And  the  eternal  voices  of  the  stare. 

For  three  long  fallings  of  the  leaf,  with  four 

Moons  more,  had  he  been  living  on  this  Isle. 

For  three  long  fallings  of  the  leaf,  had  ho 

Been  free  from  all  mankind — from  all  his  foes — 

From  all  things,  save  the  perfect  peace  ho  sought— 

The  presence  of  his  God,  whoso  voice  he  heard 

In  thunders  of  the  storms,  the  only  thing ' 

He  feared,  or  felt  superior  to  his  soul. 

Then  came  young  Julian  to  the  great  old  Chief, 
l>rest  in  the  garb  that  young  Yainussa  woro 
When  he  was  taken  captive  in  the  light, 
But  whom  Lamorah  thought  was  dead,    lie  knew, 
At  every  falling  of  the  leaf,  the  old  man  camo 
From  some  far  distant  land  unknown  to  man, 
Like  spirits  from  the  dead  to  those  they  love, 
To  strew  rich  Cor:d  on  his  father's  grave, 
And  pray  beside  him  while  ho  wept.    So,  when 
Lamorah  saw  him  in  his  own  son's  garb, 
He  ran  to  meet  him  from  the  silver  sand, 
Where  he  aat  musing  by  the  lonely  Luke — 
(For  long  had  he  IKJCII  waiting  there  to  »«o 
Home  stranger  in  the  person  of  his  son — ) 
And,  rushing  with  impatient  speed,  fell  on 


13 


The  brcnat  of  Julian,  crying  out,  a  Afy  ton  ! 

My  nun!  Yaf^assaf  is  it  you,  my  ton  t        ^ 

ffast  thou  returned  from  JJeattt  —  the  LAND  OF  SOULS  t 

Thy  face  is  pale  f—  thou  hast  the  WHiTE-MAN'e/ace/ 

>'afia«*a,  is  it  you  ?  —  caw  J&fcth  do  this  t 

Or  has  Manito  tent  thee  hereto  mock 

My  soul  by  i/lving  thee  the  White-Man's  face  ?  — 

/  luite  thy  face—hate  it  as  I  do  Hell  ! 

Sjxak  to  my  soul,  Yai^assa  !  speak,  my  son  !  " 

"  Father,"  said  Julian,  "  I  am  thine  own  son, 

All  souls  nro  pale-face  in  the  LAND  OF  SOULS. 

W  lii-iv  in  my  mother  ?  brother  Otitoiicu  \ 

CKLUTA,  that  young  Dove!  the  White-man's  child  ? 

The  LILY  that  Yuijws.su  loved  so  well  ?" 


When  thus  Lumorah  cried  aloud  again  : 

"  Art  tliou  my  son  ?  —  This  is  his  Wampum-Belt! 

This  is  his  How  !  —  this  is  his  Quiver  here  ! 

These  arc,  the  garments  that  ho  wore  when  slain!" 

"  Father  !  "  said  Julian,  "  I  am  thine  own  son  ! 

All  souls  arc  pale-face  in  the  Land  of  Souls  !  " 

Then  loud  Lamorah  cried,  —  "  This  is  my  son  I 

Yamuna  from  the  Land  of  Souls/—  Come  home!" 

Then  on  the  silver-shining  level  Lake 

Stretched  out  in  measureless  expanse  beneath 

The  snowy  splendors  of  the  full-orbed  Moon 

That,  though  the  silvered  quiet  of  the  night, 

Came  down  to  smile  thereon  with  matron  joy, 

Liko  some  fon-l  mother  on  her  infant  child  — 

Laying  there  couched  in  dreamless,  sweet  repose 

Low  in  the  cradle  of  the  rolling  world  — 

They  both  embarked  in  their  divine  Canoe. 

For  now,  beneath  her  Angel-smiles  it  lay, 

Like  some  great  happy  soul  in  prayer  to  God, 

Naked  before  high  Heaven,  stretched  out  upon 

His  death-bed,  while  around  his  lightning-soul, 

Drawing  God-loving  strength  from  pious  prayer, 

Angels,  invisible  to  all  besides, 

In  shining  garments,  minister  to  him. 

So,  in  their  crescent-like  Canoe,  all  night, 

Unfettered  from  the  pebbly  breath,  with  one  lone  oar 

Worked  by  Lamorah's  brawny  arms  —  they  ploughed, 

(Leaving  no  track  behind  of  who  sailed  there 

For  after  years,  should  any  seek  to  find  —  ) 

The  level  field  of  waters  till  the  dawn. 

For  as  the  Dawn  broke  slowly  in  the  East, 

Withering  the  Moon  into  the  light  of  Heaven, 

Afar  oft'  in  tho  bosom  of  tho  Lake 

Tinged  with  tho  radiance  of  tho  rising  sun 

All  golden  in  tho  Temple  of  the  Morn  — 


14 


Looking  like  some  great  sea  of  molten  gold — 
(Like  home  great  Emerald  Mountain  rising  up-—) 
They  saw  the  EDEN  ISLE  burst  on  their  sight ! 
The  Hills,  like  some  great  Caravan  encamped, 
At  noontide,  on  the  desert  of  the  world- 
Still  billows  of  the  World's  great  terrene  sea —         . 
(As  if  they  were  the  mighty  graves  of  Gods—      ^» 
The  rising  stcpstones  to  the  Deity- 
Bristled  with  lo%  pines,  that  in  the  distance  looked 
Like  mystic  muss  covering  their  purple  backs- 
Spread  out  in  undulating  lines  afar — ) 
Were  deluged  with  rich  radiance,  as  they  lay 
Propping  the  thunder-clouds  of  Heaven,  beneath 
The  golden  glory  of  the  springing  Sun 
Rising  in  such  Empyreal  pomp  from  out 
The  Emerald  splendor  of  the  Eastern  Sea — 
Flooding,  with  his  great  Seraph-splendor,  all 
The  cavalcade  of  gidden  glory-clouds 
That  rolled,  in  lofty  mountain-piles,  on  high, 
Like  incense  from  an  Altar  up  to  God — 
Or  that  great  Ladder  Jacob  saw  at  night, 
On  Bethel-plain,  reaching  from  Earth  to  Heaven — 
ravillioning  his  glory.    While,to  the  right, 
As  they  rowed  on,  neuring  tins  BLKBSED  ISLE, 
•A  flock  of  wild  Swans,  from  the  Jasper  reeds, 
With  aide-long  wings,  rose  up,  darkening  the  sun, 
"Whose :  clamorous  shouts,  redoubled  by  me  Ilills, 
Filled  the  wide  Heavens  with  jubilations  loud  ; 
And  after  circling  on  their  snowy  wings, 
Glinting  the  glory  of  the  golden  sun — 
Chequering  the  Lake  with  moving  shadows — down 
They  all  descended,  with  Seraphic  sail, 
On  moveless  wings,  upon  the  Lake  again, 
Like  living  pearl,  or  Angels  out  of  Heaven, 
Far  out  of  reach  of  farthest  shot  of  man, 
Floating  among  the  reeds  in  jocund  joy. 
Upon  the  sand,  close  by  the  water's  edge, 
\\  here  smote  their  little  boat  upon  the  shore, 
Clusters  of  luscious  grapes  were  scattered  round 
In  prodigal  profusion  on  the  ground, 
And  ebon  Muscadines  of  lustrous  black, 
Like  drops  of  polished  night,  weighed  down  their  vines, 
So,  that,  the  cool  lips  of  uie  crystal  wave, 
Swayed  by  the  presence  of  the  noontide  breeze, 
Lapped  them  with  liquid  kisses  from  the  shore, 
Till  they  went  dangling  far  away  from  land, 
Like  little  ebon  barques  upon  the  Lake. 

So,  as  he  wandered  through  the  ISLE  OF  FLOWER*, 
lie  stiw  lanthe,  like  the  crescent  Moou 


s 


15 


Cloudiest  in  Heaven,  in  her  own  beauty  clad, 
As  glorious  to  the  Isle  as  she  to  night — 
The  Angel  of  the  place— the  joy  of  life- 
Swimming  about  through  all  the  placid  Lake, 
Drawn  by  two  silver  Swans  together  yoked, 
Like  some  fair  Naiad  in  her  native  stream ; 
While  from  the  emerald  Alleys  crowned  with  flowers, 
Born  from  the  bosom  of  the  oval  Hills, 
Replenishing  the  treasures  of  the  Lake, 
With  waters  jmre,  in  serpentine  soft  flow,— 
A  liquid  music  came  from  nil  the  streams, 
Rising  up,  odor-like,  around  her  form, 
From  out  the  bosom  of  the  limpid  Lake, 
Soothing  her  sighing  soul  to  heavenly  peace. 
This  was  the  music  of  Celestial  Love, 
Speaking,  in  mystic  language  to  her  soul, 
Sweet  as  the  Choral  Symphony  of  Stars, 
Or  heavenly  harmony  of  the  Pleiades. 
A  Lily  among  lilies  throned  she  lay, 
Lolling  upon  the  hyaline  Lake  aWve, 
When,  suddenly,  alarmed  at  his  approach, — 
Thinking  that  Ostfiw;  had  come  again 
To  mar  her  rich  felicity — she  rose — 
When  from  her  lily-limbs,  fair  as  the  Moon 
To  young  Endymion  on  the  Carian  Mount, 
The  soft  pellucid  waves,  in  beaded  dews, 
Made  odorous  by  the  sweetness  of  her  form, 
Trickled  in  amorous  showers,  like  dewy  rain 
Wept  by  the  Evening's  azure  eyes  from  out 
The  snow-white  petals  of  some  lily-bell. 
So  rose  she  from  the  bosom  of  the  Lake, 
Like  bright  Naitha  from  her  Sais-throne, 
Or  Rhodope,  the  Beautiful,  from  out 
Th1  Eternal  Pyramid— so  dewy-bright — 
Like  lily  in  the  morning  sun — she  looked 
Like  Venus  when  she  rose  up  from  the  sea, 
Wafted  by  Zephyrs  to  the  Cvprian  Isle, 
Where  all  the  seasons  waited  with  delight, 
With  open  arms,  to  welcome  her  on  shore. 
So  stood  his  soul  to  welcome  her  to  bliss. 
Mild  as  an  incarnation  of  the  Moon, 
She  rose  as  pure  in  her  own  innocence 
As  thought-encircled  Truth  from  out  the  tout 
Of  him  who  contemplates  the  works  of  God 
In  silent  adoration — like  that  Boy, 
The  Grecian  God  of  Silence,  clothed  in  light, 
Half  risen  from  the  Mystic  Lotus  Flower — 
As  graceful  as  that  Abysinian  tree 
Bending  before  the  face  of  him  who  seeks 
Its  shade— her  Coral  Clmplet  on  her  brow— 


16 

The  ebon  Cross  Uiat  Julian  gave  to*  her, 
With  VIA  OEU  written  on  its  front, 
In  rich  mosaic  of  pure  gold,  with  chain 
Of  virgin  gold  suspended  round  her  neck. 
The  lute-like  voices  of  the  Dryades 
Hid  in  the  Willows  weeping  on  the  Lake, 
In  mystic  sweetness,  liailed  her  as  she  rose. 
Thus  looked  she,  when  she  first  arose,  to  him. 
For,  as  the  Grecian  Sculptor  gazed  with  joy 
Ineffable,  upon  his  matchless*  work  of  Art — 
The  rich  emlwdiment  of  all  his  dreams 
Of  Infinite  Perfection — so  ho  gazed, 
Enraptured,  on  the  naked  loveliness 
Of  that  bright  IV-nuty,  shrined  in  nil  her  rich 
Perfection*,  in  the  hyaline  Luke  alone, 
Whose  soft  pellucid  sparkles  rippKul  round 
The  WHITE  ISI.L  of  her  Heavenly  Form,  us  if 
Keluctant  now  to  lose  so  soon  so  much 
Of  heavenly  loveliness  on  earth — which  she 
Perceiving,  conscious  of  her  innocence — 
Now  hid  her  fare,  blushing  witii  purest  shame, 
Which  he  observing,  rapt  with  perfect  joy, 
With  manly  modesty,  retired  uwliila 
I'ohiud  the  moss-clad  rock  which  stood  upon 
The  margin  of  the  Lake,  from  which  he  watched 
Her  all  unseen.    Then,  turning  round,  with  lialf 
Averted  face,  to  see  if  he  wore  gone— 
(Her  eyelids  drooping  on  her  violet  eyes—) 
Sin-  made  her  Naiad -like  retreat  out  at 
The  other  side — leaving  the  sighing  Lake 
Sighing  that  it  should  lose  so  much  of  Heaven— 
While,  from  th-.!  opening  rose-bud  of  her  form, 
In  delicate  lYcshiifss  of  divinest  youth,    , 
An  amorous  odor  came  of  virgin  love, 
AnthoMuial  in  its  redolence  divine, 
Which  Edened  nil  the  Isle.    Then,  snatching  up 
Her  snow-white  /one  from  oil'  the  hhoro,  she  fled 
Into  the  neighboring  1  lower,  where, all  alone, 
fleen  only  by  the  blushing  Flowers,  that  kissM 
With  their  delicious,  amorous,  odorous  lips 
Her  more  delicious,  amorous,  odorous  form 
A  fairer  Flower  herself — she  clad  herself — 
Or,  rather,  she  was  by  the  graces  clad. 
The  robe  slid  wore  was  made  of  down  of  Swans. 
The  Sandals  of  her  delicate  feet  were  black- 
Made  by  Lamorah  of  the  J toe-buck'*  skin — 
lk»th  jeweled  from  the  instep  to  the  toes 
With  multi-colored  beads  of  various  sha 
The  languid  quarters  folded  down  below 
Her  oval  instep,  snowy  white,  were  gemmed 


17 


With  van-colored  beads  profusely  placed, 
Three  rows  of  beads  different  from  all  the  rest, 
With  beads  of  different  kinds  in  every  row. 
The  Cap  she  wore  was  lined  with  down  of  Swan*, 
And  plumed  with  feathers  from  the  Heron's  wing, 
And  rare  Flamingoes,  tipped  with  down  of  Doves. 
Her  hair,  in  one  rich  flood  of  wavy  cold, 
Poured  down  upon  her  alabaster  neck 
Like  rays  of  morning  light,  unshorn  by  clouds, 
Upon  some  fur-oft'  hill  of  virgin  snow. 
Upon  her  lily-finger,  emblem  of  her  truth, 
In  memory  of  the  man  she  loved,  she  wore 
The  jeweled  ring  that  Julian  gave  to  her 
Mefore  they  parted — long  before  the  great 
Lamorah,  Mico  of  hi*  Tribe,  stole  her 
Away  to  wander  on  this  DLKBSKD  ISLE. 
Ueskle  her  stood  her  dappled  Fawn,  whose  head, 
Of  delicate  whapp,  wan  lilted  hi^h  above 
Its  shoulder  now  in  princely  pride,  whereon, 
In  graceful  carel^sMiieas,  her  lily-hand 
Of  rosy-white,  like  lilies  in  the  sun, 
Was  placed  caressingly,  whose  touch  did  seem 
To  tamo  it  to  the  meekness  of  the  lamb, 
Ami  sooth  its  HOU!  to  peaceful  human  joy ; 
While,  with  its  gokleu  sparkling  eyes  that  burnt 
AVith  the  celestial  light  of  one  in  love— 
(Two  Heavens  of  innocence  meek  as  the  Dove—) 
Kyod  its  ft  UK  I  mother  o  i  the  neighboring  hill, 
Cropping  thu  velvet  emerald  moss  that  Tuccd, 
With  verdant  sheen,  the  ponderous  rocks  around. 
Thus  on  its  tapering  limbs  it  mutelv  stood, 
With  lustrous,  golden  eyes,  in  childlike  joy, 
Courting  her  blandishments  with  artless  ease, 
And  the  soft  southings  of  her  delicate  hand— 
Seeming,  in  guileless  joy,  though  standing  still, 
An  incarnation  of  most  perfect  pence, 
And  instinct  with  the  soul  of  swiftest  flight. 
Its  trumpet-nostrils,  lifted  high  in  air, 
Clear  as  the  Hollyhock  when  first  in  bloom — 
Seemed  scenting  odors  from  the  ISLE  OF  HALM, 
Its  velvet  skin,  soil  IIH  the  down  of  Swans, 
Was  dappled  with  pure  white  on  cither  side, 
And  looked  like  petals  of  the  snow-white  pea 
On  Autumn's  russet  leaves  clropt  sparingly. 


Such  was  the  plaything  of  her  inn 
An  emblem  ot  herself — her  Sylph- 


innocent  youth- 


ylph-like  bhape— 
love 


All  innocence — all  truth — all  love — as  pure 
As  Heaven — the  Angel-Dinn  of  the  l*le- 
Loved  for  it*  rare  simplicity — its  wild, 

B 


18 

Untamcable  docility — which  seemed 
An  incarnatiou  of  swift  Liberty — 
The  birth  of  motion  ever  to  be  born, 
For  by  the  gentle  wafture  of  her  hand, 
Would  it  skip  playfully  from  hill  to  hill, 
In  wanton  gambols  various  as  the  winds ; 
Then,  after  joyful  vaultings  in  the  air, 
Printing  the  greensward  with  its  silver  feet — 
Threshing  out  harvests  of  the  newblown  flowers- 
Till  rose*  mixed  with  lilies  made  it  seem 
Like  dam:isked  snow — (an  emblem  of  her  cheeks — ) 
Return  to  her  again,  like  Joy  to  Love — 
l>rlighted  with  the  joy  of  giving  joy — 
Which  she,  with  pensive  smiles,  returned  again, 
By  combing  back,  with  her  soft,  lily-hand, 
The  velvet  down  upon  its  tender  skin, 
Till,  ravished  with  the  fullest  joy  within, 
Born  of  the  sense  of  her  magnetic  touch — 
N«»w  growing  weary  of  the  glorious  world, 
(Its  languid  lids,  fringc-d  with  the  purest  jet 
Tight-closing  over  its  bright  golden  eyes—) 
Would  fall  asleeii  standing  there  by  her  side. 
Tim*  would  it  slet'p  for  hours,  did  she  not  cull 
It  with  hor  soft  sweet  voice  to  wake  again  ; 
For  when  she  cried,  GAZELLR  !  up  it  w  ould  jump, 
Alive  again,  as  if  her  voice  had  given 
To  its  new-wakened  soul  an  Angel's  wings. 
But  Julian  soon  arose  *rom  where  he  sat. 
Impatient  grown  to  gaze  once  more  on  Heaven— 
(On  whose  blight  thrcshhold  he  now  seemed  to  stand. 
And  hear  the  songs  of  Seraphim  within — ) 
And  followed  her  to  her  sweet  Hiding-place. 
Seeing  him  thus  approach  her  Sacred  1  lower, 
Blushing  rich  crimson  as  he  entered  in—  ' 
With  down-cast  eyes  she  turned  away  from  him, 
And  would  have  Aed,  had  ho  not  stayed  her  thus: 
"  Jiinthi'f  'v'tftfhi  iJittn  of  thin  Jute! 
Worthy  to  be  the  QiU'cn  of  oil  the  world  ! 
fa  i  rent  of  all  the  fair-ones  ci'ci'  bom  f 
My  Morning  Star  !  wy  u'cr-nc.w  JJeltyht  ! 
Jl/y  joy  on  earth  f  )iiy  hoju'S  of  bliss  in  Heaven  f 
Riltold  !  it  is  yitur  Julian  clasps  you  now  !  " 
«  WJutt!  Julian?  Julian!  is  this  you  ?     Oh!  God! 
Is  this  my  Julian  f  this  my  love  ?  tny  Heaven  ?  " 
When  Julian  clasped  htr  to  liis  panting  breast, 
Glowing  with  rapture  far  too  big  for  words,— 
\nd,  that  she  looked  so  beautiful  in  tears, 
Tept  tears  of  perfect  joy  to  see  her  wee})— 
ibracing  her  ten  thousand,  thousand  times, 


19 


In  one  long  embrace  of  entwining  love— 

Prolonged  till  they  seemed  melted  into  one  — 

She  hanging,  weeping,  on  his  panting  breast  — 

Panting  like  some  sweet  Dove  in  mating-time—  - 

Her  lily-hands  clasped  firmly  round  his  neck  — 

The  white  sea  of  her  bosom,  passioned-stormed, 

Beating  in  milky  waves  against  his  own  — 

Such  deep  Angelic  love  now  filled  her  soul 

It  could  not  bo  exprest  but  by  the  aid 

(  )f  Sorrow  —  Christian-sister  of  pure  Joy  — 

As  if  an  Angel  now  should  weep  because 

She  was  in  Heaven  —  had  too  much  heavenly  bliss. 

And  when  the  rapture  of  divine  delight 

Had  settled  to  the  calmness  of  sweet  peace— 

The  quick  short  beVfnjjp  of  deep  joy  were  merged  / 


Into  the  slow,  sad  sighing*  of  content  — 

Printing  her  lovely  iips  with  kisses  pure  —  * 

United  now  never  to  part  again  — 

Twined  in  each  other's  arms,  they  laid  them  down, 

Couched  upon  Swan-down,  where  they  spent,  unseen, 

The  whole  night  long  in  passion's  amorous  play  — 

Mingling  their  burning,  rapturous  souls  in  one  — 

Happy  beyond  all  else  that  Karth  could  give  — 

Till,  sated  with  excexs  of  heavenly  bliss  — 

CniiMUined  by  their  own  tires  they  fill  iislcep, 

Nor  woke  again  im'il  the  next  day  noon. 


LUSTRUM  JTHE  THIRD, 

Within  this  Temple's  grand  magnificent  nave, 
Studding  with  ever-variant  hues  the  dome, 
Mvriads  of  crystals  blazed,  like  diamond  flowers, 
Afl  hyaline,  immortal  in  their  bloom, 
A  petrified  Parterre,  bright  us  tho  Palace-homo 
Of  Genii  in  the  realms  of  Fairy-Land. 
Columns  of  glittering  granite — pillars  high 
Of  crimson  Porphyry,  like  trophies  torn 
From  mighty  Kings  in  battle  for  the  world. 
Such  was  the  splendor  of  the  place,  when  seen 
By  torchlight,  blazing  now  in  glory  bright, 
Like  fragments  of  pure  Beauty  torn  from  out 
The  burning  Stars — forever  burning  there — 
More  beautiful  than  that  delightful  Cavo 
In  th1  Hesperian  Land,  where  Saturn,  with 
His  People,  spent  the  Golden  Age  in  peace. 


20 


For,  in  Um  subterranean  Vatican, 
Were  Nature's  most  superior  workmanship— 
The  rich  embodiment  of  myriad  forms, 
Expressed  in  crystals,  far  surpassing  all 
The  richest  Statuary  in  the  world — 
As  if  thev  were  the  leisure  thoughts  of  Gods, 
In  emulation  of  some  work  divine 
Done  by  the  Maker  of  the  world  in  Heaven. 
Into  this  Cave  they  went  to  live  alone, 
Celuta  bearing  flowers  to  deck  their  couch — 
Mantling  their  sweetness  with  the  down  of  Swans — 
Where,  on  their  rich  Pelisse  of  costly  furs, 
Garnished  with  beautiful  prismatic  Pearls, 
They  laid  them  down  in  one  another's  arms, 
She  on  his  arm  pillowing  her  tender  head — 
Gazing  with  pensive  eyes  into  his  face, 
llevenling  all  her  heavenly  charms  to  him— 
To  take  their  fill  of  sweet,  voluptuous  toil — 
Where  the  crushed  roses  underneath  their  forms, 
In  amorous  play,  exhaled  such  sweet  perfume, 
That  all  the  Cave  was  filled  with  ropy  clouds, 
Like  incense  from  an  Altar,  till  the  plat-e 
Became  like  Eden  in  that  heavenly  hour 
When  Adam  first  cohabited  with  Eve. 
This  feeling,  old  as  Death,  ancient  as  Life, 
With  immemorial  sweetness,  took 
Entire  possession  of  their  raptured  souls — 
Until,  exhausted  by  their  amorous  sport, — 
Now  overcame  by  that  sweet  lassitude 
That  earthly  pleasure  ever  leaves  behind — 
They  sank,  entwined  in  one  another's  arms, 
To  sleep  delicious  as  the  sleep  of  him 
Who  dies,  knowing  that  he  will  go  to  Heaven. 
For,  it  was  more  secluded  than  that  Cave,      , 
Where,  fleeing  Persecution's  fires,  there  slept, 
Unseen  by  man,  th'  Ephesian  youth*,  for  years. 

So,  on  the  morning,  when  they  woke  again, 

They  rose  with  hearts  filled  with  the  tenderest  joy, 

And  through  the  Violet  Valley,  arm  in  arm, 

Went  on,  inhaling  perfumes,  as  they  went. 

From  twice  ten  thousand  Urns  of  fragrant  flower*-— 

Into  their  labyrinthine  Bower  of  Bliss — 

A  Sylvan,  soft  Pavillion  of  pure  joy — 

Starred  with  ten  thousand  flowers  of  purest  gold, 

With  rich  Carnations,  Pansies,  Pinks — 

While  through  the  emerald  Alleys  softly  came, 

From  twice  ten  thousand  birds,  of  various  dyts, 

Poured  forth,  rich  gushes  of  ecstatic  song, 

Whose  sweet  jocundity  went  high  as  Heaven — 


Celestial  songs  such  as  are  heard  in  dreams. 
There  sung  the  plaintive  Nightingale,  that,  all 
Night  lotig,  beneath  the  vigils  of  the  Moon, 
Whose  pale,  cold  glory  sitteth  now  in  Heaven, 
Tinging,  with  melancholy,  all  the  world- 
Poured  forth  rich  gushes  of  luillitiUions  wail 
To  his  sweet  Rose,  whose  thorn  was  in  his  heart — 
Mounting  her  shortlived  beauty,  all  the  while, 
In  lamentation  loud.    They  heard  him  sing, 
And  loved  him  for  the  sweetness  of  his  song. 

Then  on  the  mow-clad  rock  they  sate  them  down, 
Hi*  languid  head  reclined  upon  her  lap, 
Pillowed  on  rich  Carnations,  Pansics,  1'inks, 
While,  with  her  Know-white  hand,  soft  as  the  down 
That  xones  the  Cygnet's  breast,  she  soothed  his  brow, 
Counting  his  anxious  sighing*  one  by  one— 
As  on  her  opon  face,  ringletted  brow, 
Itandoaucd  with  Corals  of  the  richest  dyes, 
While  pendants  of  pure  Pearl  hung  in  her  ears — 
Smiles  of  ineffable  sweetness  passed, 
Haunting  his  soul  with  heavenly  peace. 
Then,  like  the  Dove  upon  her  amorous  mate, 
With  mire,  xad  pleasure,  calm,  yet  kindling,  oyo, 
As  mild  ns  Meekness  in  the  hour  of  death— 
.she  gazed  upon  the  face  of  him  she  loved, 
The  rich  inheritor  of  all  her  charms, 
lieuiuse  the  only  owner  of  her  love— 
Who,  from  tho  saintly  petals  of  her  roso 
Of  womanhood,  had  rilled  all  the  sweets, 
Opening  to  him  with  redolence  divine — 
Rivaling  the  budding  beauty  of  the  rose — 
Such  as  no  flower  in  Eden  ever  knew  ; 
Cioing  behind  tho  Vail  of  her  sweet  form— 
Her  Holy  of  Holies — there  to  live 
Her  Priest,  her  Levitc — loved  forever  more. 
Then,  with  tho  Oil  of  Violets,  she  bathed 
His  manly  brow,  his  dark,  long  raven  locks, 
As  he  lay  there  in  Love's  divine  embrace, 
Couched  in  her  Paradisial  lap,  nsleep, 
I  Breaming  of  newer  bliss  when  he  should  wake. 
Then,  with  Rose-water,  Orange-water  pure, 
Made  by  her  own  fair  hands,  she  laved  his  limbs, 
Until  he  seemed,  aunointed  as  he  was, 
An  incarnation  of  pure  redolence. 
So,  when  ho  woke,  she  fed  him  with  her  own 
Fair  hands,  on  fruits  plucked  from  tho  Eden-treet— 
On  golden  luscious  Neet'rines,  Ayrdes  Pears, 
And  Mangoes,  yellow  Plums,  delicious  Dates- 
Conserve  of  Roses  mixed  with  Damson  Cheese, 


22 

And  Curd,  made  of  the  creamy  milk  of  Does, 
Sweetened  with  sugar  from  the  Maple-tree — 
Sweeter  than  King-Dove;  Turkey,  or  the  Swan, 
Or  softly  macerated  flesh  of  Deer. 

Hie  golden  grapes  hung  clustering  in  the  sun, 

Oozing  their  luscious  Nectar  on  the  ground — 

Hare  Vintage  ripe  of  rich  deliciousneas— - 

Tempting  the  soul  to  eat  continually. 

Large  Orange-trees  that  blossom  while  they  bear, 

Burthened  with  fruit  of  pure  exquisiteness 

Like  globes  of  vegetable  gold  on  boughs 

<Jf  lustrous  emerald  growing,  flourished  there—* 

Fruit  of  Ambrozial  richness  tit  for  Gods. 

Thus  did  she  minister  to  his  delight 

In  many  other  most  delicious  ways, 

Soothing  his  appetite,  from  day  to  day, 

On  Juleps,  nectared  fruits,  delicious  sweets, 

Which,  while  they  satisfied  his  appetite,  ' 

Brought  not  disease,  but  joyful,  blooming  health. 

So  easy  of  digestion  were  they  all, 

Imbibed  with  so  much  joy  from  her  fair  hand, 

That  even  intemperate  he  was  temperate. 

So,  by  Riitfointing  her  sweet  limbs  each  day 

With  Violet-oil,  when  tired  of  timorou*  pport, 

She  grew  to  be  as  nimble  as  the  Dec  r ; 

For,  like  the  Persian  Virgins,  she  now  bathed 

Her  limbs  for  pure  deliciousness  of  life, 

As  for  the  cherishing  of  amorous  joys. 

Thus  did  they  bathe  together  in  one  stream 

Each  to  the  other  ministering  delight — 

Living-  upon  the  pure  air  of  the  Isle, 

Like  Adam  with  his  Eve  in  Paradise, 

In  perfect  health,  not  thinking  they  could  die  ; 

For,  in  the  Golden  Age  of  their  deep  love, 

They  felt  they  wore  immortal — could  not  die. 

There  was  no  death  could  make  her  more  divine— 

None  could  exalt  him  into  higher  bliss. 

The  Golden  Age  is  always  in  the  world 

To  those  who  love.    AH  things  wore  gold  to  them. 

They  saw  beyond  Time's  confines  far  away 

Into  the  golden  Portal  of  the  skies, 

Where  bloomed  th1  immortal  Amaranth  of  Peace, 

Which  they  now  gathered  from  their  mutual  love. 

Therefore,  they  needed  not  to  die  to  find 

A  happier  Eden  than  this  Blessed  Isle — 

This  rich  Atlanta  of  the  sunn)  South. 

For  in  this  Aphroditean  Isle  they  lived 

A  sinless,  pastoral  life  among  the  flowers, 


23 

Tending  the  Fawns,  living  on  rarest  fruits—- 
Richer  than  any  that  were  ever  grown 
In  King  Alcinous'  Garden,  rich  in  fruits — 
Like  those  Hesperian  Apples,  fumed  of  old, 
Guarded  by  no  fierce  Dragon  but  pure  Love— 
In  all  the  rich  simplicity  of  Truth, 
Like  Saturn  with  his  People,  all  their  lives — 
Thus  realizing,  here  on  earth,  their  dreams 
Of  Heaven,  while  wandering  on  from  Bower  to  Bower, 
Through  fairest  Sylvan  scenes  of  various  view, 
Whose  undefiled  perspective  wooed  the  soul ; 
Through  ever-verdant  lawns  purpled  with  Thyme, 
Bordered  by  ramparts  of  the  richest  groves ; 
Through  emerald  Meadows  damasked  with  rich  flowers, 
Meandered  by  soft  crystal  streams  whose  shores 
Were  graced,  down  to  the  water's  edge,  with  flowers— 
Adowu  whoso  serpentine  soft  flow,  at  even, 
The  Breezes,  with  delicious  coolness,  brought 
An  ocean  of  sweet  odor  to  the  soul, 
1  MtluHii^  such  vitality  through  all 
Their  veins,  celestial  vigor  tilled  their  limbs, 
While,  in  the  eddying  sinuosities, 
Among  the  Jasper  Heeds,  all  day  were  seen 
The  milk-white  Swan  winding  his  pliant  neck 
Around  1m  amorous  mate  in  constant  joy, 
Singing  rich  Canticle*  of  rapturous  love, 

Thus  did  they  realize  the  Golden  Age 
In  All  its  luxury  of  natural  pomp — 
Interpreting  the  Pythagorean  dream 
Of  man's  perfectibility  on  earth. 

It  was  not  sensual,  but  with  mental,  love, 
That  sweet  luntho  loved  her  Julian  now — 
Although  that  modified  her  spiritual  love— 
Giving  Much  fervent  rapture  to  her  soul ; 
But  such  us  Angels  feel  in  loving  God, 
Or  one  another — pure  celestial  love 
For,  in  the  Angel-meekness  of  her  face— 
The  melting  tenderness  of  her  blue  eyes- 
He  saw  glimpses  of  that  Celestial  State 
Where  Angels  dwell  in  all  their  perfectnesa. 

With  eyes  upturned,  swimming  in  tears  of  pure 
Delight,  they  gazed  upon  the  Sylvan  scene 
In  silent  peace,  filled  with  the  joys  of  Heaven — 
While,  in  the  East,  they  saw  the  full-orbed  Moon, 
With  mild,  resplendent  lu.stre,  look  from  Heaven 
Upon  the  mirror  of  the  quiet  Lake  that  lay, 
Like  liquid  silver,  showing  baek,  in  all 
Its  calm  benignity,  her  placed  face, 


Smiling  on  its  original  iu  Heavt 
Even  as  lauthe,  iu  her  body  there, 
Imaged  the  form  that  was  to  be  above, 
For  she  was  J ulian'a  Moon— Endy  iniou  he 
To  her  upon  the  Oorian  Moaitt  of  Time. 

Tims  did  they  wander  through  the  Bower  of  Bliss, 
A*  Eden-like  as  that  sweet  Laud  of  Love, 
Where,  iu  perpetual  pulchritude,  now  rove 
The  souls  of  the  departed  of  this  world, 
Encircling,  with  Cherubic  Choir,  the  throne 
Of  Atiensic,  clad  in  robes  of  light, 
Now  hastening  to  embrace,  with  pure  delight, 
The  long  lost  objects  of  their  earnest  love — 
(Souls  newly  entered  in  the  Land  of  Soul* — ) 
barn-ing  in  concert  to  celestial  song, 
Never  to  die  again.    Thus  in  the  Fields 
Of  Immortality  by  living  streams 
That  never  dry— where  Sowers  forever  grow, 
But  never  fade — where  Winter  never  comes— 
But  where  eternal  Spring  forever  reigns — 
Beyond  that  soft,  Lethean  stream  that  rolls, 
In  solemn  silence,  through  the  Vale  of  Death, 
Under  the  grave — oblivious  to  the  soul— 
The  Indian  thinks  that,  after  death,  the  souls 
Of  the  departed  go  to  rove  alway 
Amid  the  flowery  lawns,  soft,  dewy  meads, 
All  odoriferous  with  divine  perfume, 
B«*ide  the  Summer  Seas,  among  their  friends, 
Who  join  each  other  in  the  happy  Chase— 
Living  iu  death  as  they  have  lived  in  life. 
So  did  Count  Julian,  in  his  Bower  of  Bliss, 
Beside  the  golden-sanded  streams  that  ran 
Along  the  Violet  Valley  near  the  Cave, 
Whose  crystal-fretted,  rich  magnificence 
]  >id  emulate  the  glory  of  the  skv— 
(Treading,  as  valueless,  beneath  his  feet, 
Kich  Kuhifs,  Amethysts,  Cornelian  Stones ; 
Bright  Garnets,  Jacinths,  Emeralds,  Almondi 
Take  such  divine  voluptuous  delight 
With  his  sweet  ravi.-hing  llouri  of  the  Isle, 
That  his  lost  Paradise  seemed  now  restored 
To  him  again  with  all  its  former  joys, 
And  they  were  two  immortals  living  there, 
Filled  with  the  plenitudes  of  boundless  bliss. 


<^r\ 


